


The Pining and Pugnacity Affair

by Buffet_of_geekery



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015), The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Birthday, College, I'm sorry I killed Gaby, Illya gets a pet, Internalized Homophobia, Multi, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, Silly Boys, Spies & Secret Agents, Stubborn Napoleon, Undercover
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2018-11-08 21:40:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11090469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buffet_of_geekery/pseuds/Buffet_of_geekery
Summary: While on a mission to get to the bottom of THRUSH's latest evil scheme, Illya and Napoleon's friendship goes in some unexpected directions.I thought it would be fun to tie together the tv show and movie. I'm using their personalities and physicalities from the series while taking the movie as their origin story.I'd better clarify that I don't think anal sex is degrading and I know it shouldn't be painful.





	1. Act 1 "Penises are ugly."

"Who's a good boy? You're my little Chocky, aren't you? Yes you are." Illya held out his arm but the small rodent stayed curled up in the corner of its cage. "Not in the mood? OK. Look what daddy's got you." He held out a boiled egg which his new pet happily snatched and scurried away with.   
Napoleon watched from the doorway. It'd be so, so easy to make a snarky comment but he'd decided against it. This was a side of his partner he'd never seen before.  
Illya closed the cage door to continue getting dressed. He glanced round the room for his shoes. When his eyes met Napoleon's he jumped straight to his feet and brushed himself down to regain his composure. "I told you before not to let yourself in without knocking. How long have you been standing there?"   
"Long enough." Napoleon peered into the hutch at the foot of his friend's bed. "What is it? A rat?"  
"Hamster."   
"And he's called Chocky?" Napoleon smiled.  
Illya cleared his throat a bit. "Silly thing giving animals names but yes. I had to call him something."  
"He's cute. What else did you get?"  
Illya sat back down on his bed and gathered up his new possessions. He fanned out a trio of records. "Duke Ellington, Bessie Smith, Miles Davis."  
"Nice."  
"This," the Russian threw a couple of packs of sock on to his bed from underneath, "these, a coffee mug," his tone was detached but he couldn't help a small smile. Napoleon remembered how Illya once told him he had only really observed his birthday since coming to America, his parents deciding gifts were too bourgeois for their child.   
"...book tokens and some chocolates but I ate those at work."  
"Popular Russian. Who got you this guy?" Napoleon gestured to the cage."  
"Anna from the lab. She said she'll take care of it when I'm away. Ridiculous getting me a pet when I'm never home." He grabbed his suit jacket. "We might as well get going now."  
"OK. Promise me you'll give the restaurant a chance."  
"As long as the women keep their clothes on at this one." The two men strolled towards the door. Illya pulled out his keys ready to lock up. Napoleon turned back to the cage."Say bye bye to daddy Illya, Chocky."   
"I'm warning you. I've got my gun."

The Windowbox was a quirky sort of place. The horrible faux Turkish decor and cheesy bar signs didn't do it justice. The food really was delicious. The two off duty spies sat at a corner table listening to the pretty folk singer on the tiny stage.   
"It is nice here." Illya had to admit. "How on earth did you find this place?"  
Napoleon furrowed his brow. "Erm, I can't remember now."   
He sat sipping his cognac and picking at the few desserts he knew his friend didn't like from their sharing platter.    
A bubbly waitress came over to their table. "Everything alright, gentlemen?  
"Yes thank you." Napoleon ran his eyes over her shapely figure.   
"I'll have another beer, please." Illya asked.   
"Certainly. Anything else?"  
"Maybe latter." Napoleon purred.  
Illya tutted. "It is nice here. How did you find this place?"  
"I can remember." He noticed his friend was fiddling absent mindedly with his wedding band.     
"Do you think you'd ever get married again?" Napoleon cocked his head. He had been a fan of Illya and Gaby's relationship right from the very beginning.  Radiant is usually a word more associated with brides but there was no other word for how Illya had looked all those years ago on their secret wedding as he slipped a ring on his beautiful bride's finger. The same ring she'd been buried with just a few years later.  
Illya shrugged. "I don't think I'd know how. Besides, since when are you such a fan of matrimony?"  
"It suited you. Dating's not that hard. Watch."  
"Napoleon no." 

A blonde woman sat at the next table reading a book. The American spy leaned back in his chair. "Excuse me?"  
"Yes?"  
"Its my friends birthday today. He was wondering if you'd like to come over and join us?"  
She looked over at their table. 'The guy with the Beatle cut? Sure.'  
The young lady seemed just Illya's type. Small, beehive haircut and the slightest hint of an accent.    
Seconds later she was sat at their table. 'So,' she leaned forward, 'how old are you birthday boy?'  
'35' he sighed.  
'35? I thought you were going to say 26 or something,' the woman spluttered, 'How are you 35?'  
"I was born 35 years ago.'   
"Be nice Illya." His friend grimaced.  
The woman decided to change tack, 'Interesting accent. I can't quite place it.'  
'He's Russian.' Napoleon chipped in. The woman pursed her lips in disgust. 'I'm sorry, I don't associate with communists.' she spat before storming to the door.  
'But he's-' Napoleon attempted to call her back but she was already out the door. 'Bitch.' he muttered under his breath. 'Oh well, I tried.' he shrugged.  
'I don't know why.' said Illya.  
'Because at this rate you're going to spend retirement alone with a house full of cats.'  
'I don't even have a cat.'  
'Not yet you don't. Give it time.'

The woman's outburst had attracted attention from their fellow diners who were shooting dirty looks at them. Napoleon rolled his eyes. "Do you want to go somewhere else?"   
A mischievous look flashed across his face. "Nyet. I'm rather enjoying myself here." He replied in his native tongue, a bit louder than necessary.   
"Borsht? Is that you?" Came a voice from the bar. Illya muttered what sounded like an expletive under his breath. He made a brief attempt to hide under the table but it was too late. The man sauntered over bringing a strong smell of pot with him. He helped himself to the seat next to Napoleon.  
"Hey ruskie. I haven't seen you since you left for England. What are you doing in New York? Still into that science shit?"  
"Yes. I'm a physicist now. I'm just having dinner with a collegue." He gestured to Napoleon.    
"The name's Conway." Illya's old acquaintance shook Napoleon's hand.   
"Napoleon Solo. Very nice to meet you. How do you know Illya?" Napoleon couldn't help but enjoy his partner's discomfort. "How do you know Illya?"  
Conway pulled the unwilling Russian into a bear hug. "We go way back. We were housemates at the Sorbonne. Its criminal its been so long." He turned to Illya. "You been to the whore house on 6th?"  
"Yes. We really must meet up sometime." Illya drained the last third of his beer in almost a single gulp. "Its getting awfully late. I really must be getting  home." He grasped Napoleon's wrist and they were out the door. 

"I need a cigarette." Illya leaned back into the passenger seat of his best friend's car as they pulled out of the parking lot.   
"You don't smoke."  
"I'm well aware of that."  
 Honestly, 'that science shit.'   
Napoleon smirked  
"How did he get into the Sorbonne?"   
Illya closed his eyes. "He didn't. He was dating one of my housemates. There were four of us. Two men, two women."  
"And our new friend. He doesn't seem so bad." The American teased.  
"If I have my way it'll be another decade before we bump into each other again."  
They stopped at a traffic lights. "You want to head on somewhere else?"  
Illya looked at his watch. "No, it really is getting late. Just drop me off at home. I'm sure there's a girly bar somewhere you want to get to. 

Napoleon pulled over at the side of the road.   
"Well in that case. I might as well give you your present now before I forget."   
"You got me something?" Illya tilted his head as his friend pulled something out his briefcase and handed him abrown paper bag. Illya  peered inside. He pulled out a thin hardback with cyrillic writing on the front. He flicked through it. "Winnie the Pooh?"  
Napoleon smiled. "Complete volume. Your favourite book as a child, I believe. I heard you telling Mark how you lost your copy when your grandma's was bombed."  
The birthday boy slipped the book into his own case as they set off to his apartment.  "I think I'm a bit old for talking bears." he said with a hint of a smile.   
"Its a first edition. Took me forever to track town."  
"Really?" Illya beamed.   
"Yeah," he smiled a smug smile, "sure beats the tie you got me for my birthday, doesn't it?"   
"That was a silk tie from Savile Row!"   
"Don't you look cute when you're angry?" Napoleon ruffled his hair.   
A few minutes later and they pulled up outside Illya's building.  Napoleon watched his best friend leave and felt that familiar ache inside.

***********************************

Napoleon was absolutely not gay. Anyone could see that. He'd lost track of the number of beautiful women he'd flirted with, wined and dined and/or bedded and he ensured every single one of them had the time of their life. 

Napoleon laid back on his bed and ran his hands over his face. The dreams about Illya were getting more explicit now. What was worse was he actually enjoyed them, his subconscious self ravishing his Slavic partner without inhibition. So where did he go from there?

No way could he act on his secret desires. He was 100% not homosexual. Never had been. Apart from the business with his friends at summer camp when he was fifteen. And a couple of overenthusiastic threesomes. But those completely didn't count. And anyway, penises are ugly. 

Being practical, if he did take his best friend to bed there would be a certain...practice he'd want to try. An activity he'd always been far too much of a gentleman to suggest to any of the many lovely ladies he'd been with. Something Illya would want to do back, only fair. Something illegal. And degrading. And probably very painful. 

No, much better to ignore his infatuation. It'd pass. Just like his brief crush on his scout master. 

Oh yeah that was another one. Totally. Did. Not. Count. Either. 


	2. Act 2 Hangovers and Holy Rollers

"Pass me my water, will you?" Illya whispered. They were sat at the table in Mr Waverly's office. Napoleon grinned a smug grin. Despite insisting he was totally fine, Illya had been wearing his tinted reading glasses all day. He pushed the water bottle closer.   
"Feeling a bit worse for wear, are we?"  
"I am not hungover." The soviet snarled. "It must be a migraine coming on."  
"I didn't know you got migraines."  
"Well if I didn't before you're giving me one now." 

Mr Waverly came through the door and went over to his desk.  "Sorry to keep you waiting boys. Could you get the lights Mr Solo." As Napoleon flicked the light switch Waverly pressed a button and a photo of a woman appeared on the screen behind his desk.   
"Professor Flores. Teaches chemical physics at NYU. She suspects Thrush may be up to something at the campus. Apparently, research materials are going missing on a regular basis and their absence is being covered up."  
Napoleon took in the picture. She was a handsome woman, perhaps a couple of years older than himself, with olive skin and medium length brown hair. A familiar face.   
"Didn't she used to work here?"  
"Yes Mr Solo. You'll recall she left to get married. After her divorce she went into academia." He shot Napoleon a look. "I do hope there is no unfinished business between the two of you?"  
Napoleon was a little surprised. "No we never-"  
"Glad to hear it." Said Mr Waverly.   
Illya raised a skeptical eyebrow.   
"She had a boyfriend." Napoleon explained.

"Anyway," continued Waverly. Illya let out a little wince as the lights flickered on. "Are you alright Mr Kuryakin?"  
"He's got a headache" smirked Solo.   
Mr Waverly pressed his intercom. "Miss Richards could you bring in a glass of asprin?".   
The asprin arrived and Illya thanked the secretary. Mr Waverly continued "I want you both to go undercover, find out what's going on and put a stop to it. Flores will meet you at the college  at 9:30. " He looked at his watch. "Thank you both for coming in early. The commissary should be open now if you want to get some breakfast before you head off."  
"Thank you sir." The two spies said almost in unison before heading towards the door.   
"Mr Kuryakin," Waverly called his employee back. Illya spun round.   
"Yes sir?"  
"I understand it was your birthday yesterday but if you come to work in this state again I will make you wish you stayed in the Soviet Union. Do I make myself clear?"  
"Perfectly clear sir. It will not happen again."   
"Now do yourself a favour and get something greasy. Bacon sandwich perhaps" Waverly continued.  
"Yes sir." Illya shot Napoleon a look."Don't. You. Dare."   
He'd seen many death glares over the years but this was easily the best. Napoleon bit back a grin. Annoying Illya was just way too much fun.

***********************************  
Inside the car Illya removed his glasses and placed them on the dashboard. "I think I'm alright now."  
Napoleon glanced at him from the drivers seat as they cruised along the road. "How are you this hungover from a few beers? I've seen you drink more than that before."  
Illya seemed to take a moment to decide whether to reply.  "Anna came round after you dropped me off. Wanted to see how the hamster was doing. We got chatting and had a few drinks."  
Napoleon felt a twinge of pride despite his silly crush on his friend. "Hmm, you two seem to be developing quite a friendship."  
"Yes we do." Illya sounded almost surprised. "And that's all it is. Just friendship," he admonished.   
"Are you sure? She's a lovely lady."  
Illya smiled. "I'm not her type."  
"Really?   
"Yes now let it drop. Look, we're here."

 

Professor Flores awaited them at a burger bar on the edge of the campus. A few students milled around; enjoying a late breakfast, browsing through their textbooks with a cup of coffee or chatting with friends. It was calm enough to talk without worry of being overheard though. She waved the two agents over to her booth as they entered.  "Napoleon, Illya. So nice to see you again."  
"It's a pleasure to see you too." Napoleon flashed one of his winning smiles. "Sorry about your divorce."  
She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands. "I'm not. Believe me."  
Illya rolled his eyes. "So what did you wish to see us about?"  
Flores flagged down a nearby waitress. "Three coffees please." Once the girl was out of earshot she lowered her voice. "There's something fishy going on. Chemicals are going missing. I've been to the head of research but he insists I'm mistaken. Documents are being forged. I suspect our old pals at thrush."   
Illya nodded. "Undercover time. Napoleon, you work your charm on the faculty."  
"And you finally put that Phd of yours to some use." said Napoleon.

 

Illya unpacked his belongings onto his new desk. His reading glasses lay perched on his nose. He'd gone for clear lenses on this occasion. Conservative and somber. Professor Kuryakin. This was going to be fun. 

 

Napoleon sat almost slumped over the table, his head resting in his hands, listening to the quiet chatter of his fellow patrons. He was sat in the library people watching, keeping a look out for anyone who looked familiar from his many previous encounters with THRUSH. Thanks to Illya's insistence, he was sporting a few days worth of stubble and a lank light brown wig covered his black short-back-and-sides. His usual expensive suit had been replaced by a blue v neck and white slacks at Mr Waverly's insistance. Every time he caught sight of himself in a mirror he winced. 

"You look lost."   
Napoleon broke out of his daydream. A redheaded young lady with even bluer eyes than Illya's had sat down opposite him. Her floral print dress and checked jacket accentuated her tiny waist. "Do you want to come sit with us?"   
"It would be a pleasure."Napoleon followed her over to the next table and took a seat amongst her study group.   
His new friend sat back in her chair. "Would you like to introduce yourself?"   
"Certainly. The name's Napoleon Solo. I'm a Physics Phd student. I transferred here with Professor Kuryakin."  
"Ooh he's dreamy," giggled a pleasantly plump girl to his right. "Professor Kuryakin I mean," she blushed.  
"I'm Viola. This is Patricia, Raymond, Loretta and Lucille." The redhead gestured to her friends. "We meet here every Tuesday afternoon for Bible study."   
Napoleon's stomach dropped. "Ah. That's, er, not really my sort of thing."  
"Oh don't worry." Viola smiled. "There's no pressure. We just thought you looked like you could do with a friend."  
"Well I am somewhat out of my comfort zone."  
"I'll tell you what," Viola stood up. "We're done for today. Would you like me to show you round? I'm getting my masters in biophysics."  
"Perhaps some other time. I need to get off and meet up with my advisor."  
The group waved Napoleon off.

He ducked into Illya's room and perched on the desk. The corner of his friend's mouth twitched with a suppressed smile. For a moment Napoleon had forgotten about his disguise. "I can't believe I let you and Waverly talk me into this."  
"You needed to blend in and Phd students don't wear bespoke suits. When I was at Cambridge I got most of my clothes from Oxfam."  
"Yeah well that's all fine and good when you live in black turtlenecks."  
"How are you getting on anyway?" Illya asked.  
Napoleon shrugged. "Ok I guess. I haven't seen any familiar faces but I made friends with a couple of holy rollers. Hopefully they'll let me know if they see anything out the ordinary."   
"Good. I placed a tracker on the icenthryme in the storage cupboard. Of course, if it is Thrush they may very well just rip it off."  
"Don't be so pessimistic. Cynical Russian." he kicked his feet back and forth, "Er, what's icenthryme?  
"It's a highly poisonous explosive. Similar to hydrogen sulphate but liquid at room temperature. Seriously unpleasant. Don't you remember from survival school?"  
Napoleon's lips scrunched with disgust. "I hated explosives. You should have been my teacher."  
Illya flashed his beautiful smile. "I could have been if you hadn't come down with mono. How many attempts did you take to pass again?"  
"Erm, four." If anything, his friend would probably have been too much of a distraction.  
"I would have pounded it into you until you passed first time." said Illya.  
Napoleon swallowed hard. "Indeed. Yes well, if I'd passed first time you wouldn't have been my teacher."  
"True. I would have helped you study though."  
"I know you would. You did."  
"Yes but I was off on missions." Illya sat back with his arms folded, looking ever so slightly smug. Napoleon leaned forward. "You had a six month head start and I still ended up Chief Enforcement Officer, my dear number two."  
"That just means you you have more paperwork than me." He stood up. "I'm off to quiz the teaching staff."   
"Start with the astrophysicist down the hall."  
"Why? Do you think she's up to something?"  
"No. She's your type."  
"I wish you'd stop with your infernal matchmaking." said Illya, as he headed down the hall regardless. 


	3. Act 3: "I work with many smart asses".

Illya pushed open the slightly ajar door to the office at the bottom of the hall. The Professor was talking intently to someone with their back to him. Napoleon was right, she was certainly pretty. Her blonde hair was deeper and only slightly longer than his own. Her arms lay idly across her desk showing off her thick biceps. Illya had never been able to resist women who looked able to beat him up if they had a mind to.    
And a professor too. "I’m always depressed when I see competence reflected in a woman’s face." Napoleon had told him off afterwards for saying that but it had merely came out wrong. While he didn't expect his romantic partners to all have PhDs in quantum physics, intellectual compatibility was important to him. Also it was just practical. Women shouldn't just be waiting around to get married. With a career or trade they'd not be stuck if the worst should happen to him.  
"Can I help you?" her slight German accent broke him out of his daydream.   
"I came to introduce myself. I'm terribly sorry to have interrupted you." As he turned to leave, the chair in front of him spun round.   
"Borscht, hey do you want to come to a party?"  
"No thank you. Conway, what are you doing here?" he sighed.  
"Thought I'd sign up to a night class."   
"In astrophysics!?"  
"I also teach French and German." the professor smiled. "Not to degree levels, just enrichment."  
"Yeah." Conway stood up and stretched. He ran his hand through his floppy black hair.. "I dunno which one to go for. I guess French would help me score."   
Illya rolled his eyes.   
"Anyway I'm off." as Conway made his way out he shoved a piece of paper in Illya's hand which the  spy put it in his pocket. "Give it a think about the party, yeah?" 

"Well, go on." The professor smiled after the other man had left.   
"Excuse me?"  
The professor gazed at him through her thick rimmed glasses. Her large brown eyes and small, angular face reminded Illya of a fawn. "You said you came to introduce yourself."  Illya took the seat in front of her. He couldn't help but fiddle with his watch strap. He hated small talk. Diplomacy was really Napoleon's job.   
"Illya Kuryakin. My wife was German," he smiled.  
"Oh?" Those deer eyes glittered with amusement. "When did she stop?"  
"She passed away."   
"Oh Jesus." her face scrunched and her hand shot over her mouth. "I'm so sorry, I was just being a smartass."  
He held out his palm to her. "It's fine."  
"No, no its really not. I'm so sorry about your loss."  
"Thank you. You know, I work with many smart asses as you put it. I know you didn't mean any harm."  
The professor smiled weakly. "Joelle Andros. I'm Swiss, not German."  
Illya gestured to himself, "Russian. Well, I was born in Georgia and I spent a few years in the Ukraine as a child but I still consider-" he shook his head. "Excuse me. I'm rambling."  
"It's ok." Joelle's face was full of compassion. "Was it an expected death?"  
Illya bristled a little. "Brain aneurism while she was..away on business. Very sudden." After three years he'd reached a point where he could think back to that horrible day with some detachment. Thank god for friendship.   
"You poor thing." she rested her hand on Illya's arm. "We have an excellent counsellor here."  
"Oh I see. No, that wont be necessary. It wasn't recent."  
"We'll if you want to talk you know where I am." Her voice was low and breathy.   
Illya turned a bit pink. "Well I won't take up anymore of your time." 

 

Out in the corridor Illya pulled the piece of paper and frowned.

 

"Well?" Illya stabbed the invite with his finger.   
They were back in Illya's office. A hum of people heading home for the night drifted in from the corridor. Napoleon had acquired a spinning office chair from somewhere and he leaned back in it with his feet planted on his subordinate's desk, the Russian being too worried about a silly piece of parchment to care much.   
He let out a sigh. "It's a drawing of a thrush."  
"And? What do you think?"   
"It's a bit flowery for a college party. My frat brothers would have laughed me off campus if I'd pulled something like that"   
Illya shot him a look that seemed intended to turn him to ice.   
"Look, I know you don't like the guy but don't you think you're reaching a bit?" The American softened his voice. "Look, there's also a finch and a lark and a wren. It's just a bird themed party, that's all."   
Illya leaned over him. "Be that as it may, it's the closest thing we have to a lead at the moment."  
Napoleon held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Fine. If you insist, we'll go check it out.  
But there better be girls there."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Napoleon learns something very interesting about Illya

 "There. I told you we'd find it." Napoleon pulled his car into the small patch of concrete in front of a nondescript concrete hut. A couple of windows were boarded up and graffiti slathered the walls.  Outside, an a-board advertised a Tuesday evening slimming club. "Not quite up to THRUSH's usual standards."  
Illya gave Napoleon one of his stares. "I still think there's something up." He pushed open the car door. "Let's go."  
The American twisted round to grab the mid-range white wine he'd brought along. Bottle in hand, he then checked his hair in the rear view mirror. A few strands just refused to stay in place. Annoying but it was a relief just to be out that stupid disguise. Perhaps there was still some brylcreem in his glovebox. As he reached to check, movement in the corner of his eye grabbed his attention. A young woman of about 25 or so floated down the pathway to the building. Napoleon greatly admired her athletic figure, all legs and ripped torso, as she floated past his car. Her blonde hair was loosely pinned into a beehive.  The designer cocktail dress she wore beautifully showed off her plump breasts. Illya often joked his friend had a sixth sense for women ("actually, people should say 23rd sense. The idiom is innacurate") and while that was an exaggeration, it wasn't too far off either. OK, so he didn't have eyes in the back of his head but he liked to think he had an almost supernatural understanding of the fairer sex. 

Napoleon followed her to the hut like a rat behind the pied piper.   
"Allow me". Napoleon's knuckles rapped firmly on the door, "Miss...?"  
"Vigdis. Vigdis Johnson. It means 'war goddess'. Fitting, don't you think?" Her accent was clipped RP. Barely looking at him from out the corner of her eye, she gave him a quick once over, but her expression remained icy.  
"Well you certainly look like a goddess". He flashed one of his best smiles. "Napoleon Solo".   
"Derrived from Nibelungen." she said almost to herself. "Is that the name you were born with?"   
"Believe it or not, yes. You can call me Nappy though". He purred.  
"No thank you". Her mouth curled ever so slightly in amusement.  
"Hey, you made it". Conway swung the door open. "Come in".   
A large table was set up against one wall with a punch bowl and variety of drinks. Against the opposite wall leaned Illya, trying his hardest to disappear. Origami cranes hung from the ceiling.   
"This is the guy I told you about," Conway smiled at Vigdis. Her face lit up. "Ah. How about pouring getting me a glass of punch, Mr Lion of Naples?" she purred.   
Conway turned back to Illya. "So I said to him 'if there's grass on the field, play ball. Hey here's one. There's a half black, half Jewish boy and he-"  
"Hello Napoleon." Illya yelled a bit too loud.  
"Yes hello." Napoleon smirked from the table. "Can't talk right now. I'm getting this lovely lady a drink. As he poured liquid from the ladle to plastic cup a pair of hands snaked round his waist. "Hmm. I like my women forward" he smiled, leaning into Vigdis's embrace. She smelled of expensive perfume.  
Illya darted over to the drinks table."Sorry Conway. I'm parched." His cup was soon filled with cheap tequila. Vidgis gently pulled Napoleon to a corner a few feet away. "It would be rather a feather in my cap if you'd care to kiss me, Mr Solo."  
Her voice was like pure honey. The American agent happily complied. As they kissed, Vigdis grasped his wrists behind his back. Something metallic gripped them. Handcuffs? How? Why?

Mmm. Kinky.

"So when did you join uncle?" Conway's voice was deeper than usual.   
"Your uncle works at the university?" Illya feigned innocence. He'd learned that lesson the hard way.  
"Don't play dumb with me". Conway pulled a gun from his back pocket.   
"Illya look out!" There was a sharp jab to his side. The scene faded away even though Napoleon fought hard to stay awake.  
 

 

Napoleon slowly came round to a pounding headache. His wrists scraped against handcuffs attatched to the radiator but he could still feel his gun nestled in its holster. Pft. Amateurs, not disarming him. Illya was hog tied up in the middle of the room, not tied to anything, but with Conway loomed over him with his gun. Illya's holster was notably absent.   
"So, fell for my idiot stoner act, did we."   
Illya sighed. "So, you're with THRUSH then? he said through gritted teeth.  
Conway scoffed. "No way. I just had to make you think I was. No, I represent a different organisation". He crouched down. "I represent the Reformed Aryan Resistance League. You could be very useful to us. We need your expertise to help us overthrow the government of Svitz."  
"What?"  
"To create a white homeland, finally."  
"You're insane."   
"Shut up faggot." Conway stood up and planted a kick to Illya's thigh.

Napoleon jammed his watch against the pipe and twisted his wrist to open the secret latch. A small piece of putty fell to the floor from the clock face. It rolled a couple of inches along the pipe and quietly sizzled. 

"I'd rather die."  
"Not an option I'm afraid. Either you help us or I let you go."  
"It's tempting but I think I'll take door number two." Illya dead panned. "Why on earth would I play Nazi with your little friends?" he spat.  
An evil grin came over Conway's face. "Because if you don't then I'll ruin your life".   
Illya raised an eyebrow.  
"I remember all those French boys you took home with you back in Paris. You think your Mr Waverly would be pleased to hear of your perversions? Think the soviet navy would take you back? That you could go back to the USSR like nothing had happened."  
"That was years ago. You have no proof."   
"Oh don't I? Maybe from Paris I don't but my organisation have had our eyes on you for a while now". He threw down some photographs that Napoleon couldn't see but that made Illya turn pale. Napoleon's heart leapt a little at the thought of Illya and Paisian studs. No. Not the time. He willed Conway not to notice as the heat of the putty bured through the last bit of the pipe to free him. 

"I don't care if Russia execute me. I'll never join you."  
"Fiesty one, aren't you? We'll soon break you in. I think it's just a matter of using your depravity against you". Illya tried his best to wriggle away as Conway unzipped Illya's fly.  
Napoleon managed to grab his gun. 

Bang!

Conway fell forward into Illya's lap  
Damn. Firing in handcuffs was difficult.   
Illya looked up at his friend. "Is he dead?"  
"Tranquilized. You ok?"  
"That's a shame. Yes I'm fine".  
Napoleon pulled out his communicator pen. "Open channel D please. Solo here. We seem to have stumbled on an attempted coup...No not THRUSH, We're still working on that...Yes send them down...I have a feeling this group consists of about 12 people."

 

A couple of hours later once the baddies had been handed over to the authorities our agents leapt into Napoleon's car. Illya helped himself to the driver's seat. "You probably shouldn't drive after being knocked out." Napoleon didn't even bother to argue. It had been a long day. He sat back and listened to the rain drip drop on the roof. As they set off Illya didn't so much as glance at his friend.   
"You won't tell anybody about my proclivities, will you?" To anyone else he would have sounded nothing but relaxed. Napoleon however sensed a slight edge of worry.   
"No. Of course not. Why would I?"   
"Thank you."   
Napoleon felt a little giddy. If he played his cards right he could make his wet dreams come true. But no, he had to stay calm. Come on too strong and Illya'd very likely flee like a startled rabbit. 

 

Napoleon spotted a pair of familiar figures walking along. It was really pouring down now. The girls used their plastic folders   
"Illya pull over."  
"Napoleon no! I'm not picking up random women from the side of the road for you to do your Casanova bit on."  
"They're not random women. They're the girls I met in the library." He was actually hurt. "You really think I'm that predatory?"  
"No. Sorry, I'm tired."  
"Grumpy Russian." The car pulled to a stop ans Napoleon rolled down the window. "Can we give you a lift?"   
The girls hopped in. After a few moments Napoleon zoned out. Now was as good a time as any to think about Illya and the French boys. His stomach fluttered. Maybe, just maybe, Illya returned his silly infatuation.  He rummaged in his pocket for a pencil and paper.  
"We need to get Napoleon checked out at the hospital. He passed out earlier. Best to make sure he's ok." Illya explained to the girls.   
Napoleon rested the paper on his knee as he scribbled down a note. His cyrillic wasn't the best but hopefully his partner would be able to make it out.   
"OK. Just drop us off there."   
Napoleon's heart almost beat out his chest with nerves. Not of getting checked over, obviously. The drive  seemed to take forever. Illya and the girls made more small talk. His fan swooned at the news that "Professor Kuryakin" partied with mere mortal students  and the other complimented Napoleon on his new hair with a suspicious look on her face. Eventually they drew up outside the hospital. The girls hopped out and skipped off like fawns. Illya smiled fondly.  
"Nice girls. I miss being a teenager sometimes." he said almost to himself. He turned to his friend. "Well?"   
Napoleon blushed and shoved the note at Illya.   
"If you fancy reliving your student days you can come back to mine tonight. If not we'll say no more about it. There's no pressure." it read in Russian. Illya frowned and squinted as he made out the scribbly writing but his features soon rearranged themselves into a genuine smile.   
"Da. But let's get you checked out first."


End file.
